LITMIR.BIZ

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response to Jason’s prodding, Marc told them tales of his travels through war-torn countries. She noticed he didn’t embellish his own role or glorify war, concentrating instead on the bravery and fortitude of the local people who survived in near-impossible conditions. A different side to him shone through, one she admired.

      “You’ve got a knack for bringing their stories to life,” Fiona said. “Yasmina, the schoolteacher, seems as real as, well, me.”

      “People aren’t that different the world over, not where it counts,” Marc said with a shrug. “Jason, this soup is delicious.”

      Jason blushed to the roots of his hair. “Thanks.”

      “How old are you, seventeen, eighteen?”

      “I turned eighteen last month.”

      “Then you’ve finished high school,” Marc said. Jason nodded. “What are your plans for the future?”

      “I want to go to university—” Jason began.

      “Good plan,” Marc said. “Education opens doors.”

      “—but Fiona won’t let me,” Jason finished.

      Shocked her brother would say that in front of a stranger, Fiona froze as Marc turned to look in her direction.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      MARC’S GAZE FLICKERED from Jason to Fiona, trying to fathom the undercurrents of tension that had suddenly risen to the surface between brother and sister.

      “That’s not strictly true, Jase,” Fiona said tightly. To Marc she added, “We’re exploring his options.”

      Jason pulled apart the crust of his bread. “We’ve explored my options so long the fall term’s begun and it’s too late to enroll.”

      “Have you checked to see if you can put in a late application?” Marc suggested carefully.

      “What’s the use?” Jason muttered. “We can’t afford for me to go to school.”

      “There are loans, bursaries, possibly even scholarships if Jason’s marks are good enough,” Marc said.

      “His options include working for a year to save money for tuition,” Fiona said.

      “I’ve read the textbooks. I can do the work,” Jason replied. “Why should I wait?”

      Fiona cast a meaningful glance at her brother that said as clearly as words, enough, then turned to Marc. “Would you like some more soup?”

      “No, thank you.” Marc laid down his spoon beside his empty bowl.

      An awkward silence descended over the dinner table.

      Fiona rose and gathered up the empty dishes. “I’ll get Rowdy’s bed and then drive you home,” she said to Marc. “I hate to rush you but I have studying to do. Jason, can you please disconnect that so-called music before we open the door?”

      While Jason disappeared to another part of the house Fiona went to the laundry room and came back holding a cardboard box with one side cut down and packed with an old blanket. She put the box on Marc’s lap and the puppy and his bag of food inside. “I’ll go bring the car around.”

      Jason returned and wheeled as far as the front door with Marc. “Sorry things got a little uncomfortable.”

      “Don’t worry about it.” Marc hesitated, wishing he could say something more. Jason was a nice kid who deserved a break. But what could Marc do to help him? “Good luck with your studies.” He made his way slowly down the ramp, careful not to tip Rowdy out of his box.

      Fiona was waiting with the passenger door open and the trunk up. Marc transferred to her car and stroked the shivering dog while she loaded his chair.

      “You shouldn’t hold him back,” Marc said when they were heading down the dark country road that led through Pemberton to the highway to Whistler.

      She stared straight ahead, her hands gripping the wheel at the regulation ten and two o’clock positions. “I know how to take care of my brother.”

      “I’m sure you do. But if he’s eager for a career why not do what you can to help him get one?”

      “What goes on between Jason and me is none of your business.”

      “What if something happens to you? Who’ll look after him if he doesn’t have some way to provide for himself?”

      She slowed to a halt at a four-way stop and swiveled in her seat to face him. “Do you think I haven’t thought of that? I’ve got a plan. I’ve worked out our future. The problem is, Jason’s young and wants everything right now.”

      “Fine. No need to get defensive.”

      “I’m not being defensive,” she said, moving through the intersection. “You’re interfering.”

      “I only said—”

      “Don’t!”

      He held up his hands in silent surrender. She was right; it was none of his business. “How long has Jason been in a wheelchair?”

      “Since he was eleven.” Tension still gripped her voice; if anything it had increased. “His spinal cord was severed in the same car accident that killed our parents.”

      “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Were you also in the car?”

      “Yes.” She hesitated. “I walked away with a broken arm.”

      “My mother was killed in a car accident when I was five,” Marc told her.

      “And your father?”

      “He’s been gone for fifteen years now.”

      She glanced sideways and in the dim light of the dashboard Marc caught an expression of understanding. “We have something in common,” she said. “We’re both orphans.”

      For all intents and purposes, that was true. “I was lucky. My aunt and uncle were like parents to me and Nate and Aidan, like brothers. How old were you when you lost your folks?”

      “Eighteen. I’d just started university. I was home for the weekend when the accident happened. I never went back to school.”

      “How did you get your teaching degree then?”

      “Correspondence courses while I worked at the pub. It took me six years.” She sounded more resigned than bitter.

      “It would be understandable if you were reluctant to let your brother get easily what you worked so hard to achieve.” Marc chose his next words carefully.

      “You’re wrong,” she interjected, shooting him an indecipherable look. “I don’t begrudge Jason anything.”

      She denied it so quickly, so vehemently, Marc wondered if it were strictly true. “Still, caring for your brother under those circumstances would have been hard enough but with Jason also in a wheelchair… You’re a mother to your brother and a savior to lost dogs.” Marc regarded her thoughtfully. “Who takes care of Fiona?”

      She flinched, just a tightening of her hands gripping the wheel but he knew he’d hit a nerve.

      “I take care of myself, thank you very much,” she said with a hint of the steel that must have supported her all these years.

      She turned off the highway and onto the road that led to Tapley’s Estate. Marc studied her in the street-light. Something else had surfaced just then, too, a wistfulness, as if she wouldn’t mind, just once, being taken care of herself.

      A few minutes later Fiona pulled into Jim and Leone’s driveway and parked the car. With proficiency born of practice she unloaded Marc’s chair and held it while he transferred into it.

      Rowdy’s sniffing

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